


Fail-Safe

by Mistykins06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst in the Highest order., F/M, Mentions of Major Character Death, Suicide Attempt, emotional blackmail, mentions of drug use, some intended some not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistykins06/pseuds/Mistykins06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God help her. Sherlock once more is asking Molly for her help. Not to live, no not this time. This time he ask her to do something even harder. To help him die. </p><p>Rated M for language, mentions of death and Drug use and Mature behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fail-Safe
> 
> Noun: a system or plan that comes into operation in the event of something going wrong or that is there to prevent such an occurrence.

The last person she expected to see at her door late on Christmas was Mycroft's coworker Anthea. The woman came bursting in after Molly had answered the knock at the door dressed down in the most expensive pair of jeans Molly had ever seen not on a mannequin in a window display at Selfridge's and an equally expensive drapping white cashmere sweater but her hair was tossed up into what would be described as a messy bun yet on Anthea it looked perfect. The face the woman wore, fully devoid of makeup, her eyes red rimmed made Molly stumble back and not even consider her own clothing choices which were as far from elegant as one could possibly get.

Something was wrong. Bad wrong.

Anthea quickly explained why she'd come. : Sherlock had essentially gone rogue and killed a man in cold blood. There was nothing that anyone could do, not even Mycroft. But Anthea had squeezed her hand, commanded her to stay strong and let Molly know that she would make sure that she was kept informed... And reminded her that as always, this was all confidential and that if she told anyone what she had learned than there would be quote 'hell like none other to pay.'

After Anthea departed Molly made herself tea and sat down not at all sure why she did because she just let it get icy before she remembered it was inches from her.

Wasted.

At that tiny, insignificant thing Molly wept until she was sick and collapsed weak and empty beside her toilet, as she cried herself to sleep on the bathroom floor.

The next day Mary Watson showed up at her door, seeking her own comfort. John it seemed was being held too and she was trying to not go tearing into the high risk security prison he was being at. Why she'd come to Molly, the tiny woman wasn't all together sure but she was glad that she'd come none the less. It helped somehow. Mary reminded her that she was not alone as she felt.

Two days past that Molly received a text from a restricted number.

He has asked to see you. If you wish to see him then get in the car that will arrive at 8am. - A

She debated on going, or rather pretended to debate the end she was always going to be there for Sherlock Holmes whenever he called for her. No matter what it cost her or her heart to do so.

Her ride was a solitary one. It took her far, far from the city and onto a private estate in the country that she'd never seen or heard of that looked more and more like a secret military base the further they traveled past the great house. The message of high security was everywhere. There'd be no possibility of escape. Not even for the fantastic Sherlock Holmes. Molly felt her heart clench. How he must be suffering! For a man like him this was torture.

It took passing through three more gated entrances before the car came to a stop in front of a small building, no bigger than a potters shed with Mycroft Holmes waiting by the door.

"So good of you to come. He is anticipating your visit." With that the man walked slowly towards her car to take her place to drive off.

Leaving her staring at then pale olive green metal door before her.

She waited, curious and afraid to find out what awaited her beyond that door. Timidly she knocked, but no answer came. Finally she tried the door, surprised to find the lock turned with ease. Revealing a small cinder block yellow room with a bed in one corner and a toilet and sink in the other with a table and two chairs in the centre where Sherlock say with his head cast down into crossed arms. Molly stepped in and shut the door behind her waiting for him to acknowledge her entrance. Slowly he raised his head and looked at her. His grey eyes scanned her from her scuffed up brown boots up over her orange vintage dress and past the warm sweater she wore. But when he reached her face he looked at everything about her, noticing the braided that she used to part he hair the way he liked. The simple lip balm and make up and finally getting brave enough to reach her eyes.

And when he did... Oh when he did Molly's broken heart broke all over anew. His eyes looked so vacant, so hurt: hopeless. They looked at one another and each waited for the other to say something.

What does one say to a murder?

How does one even begin to apologize for hurting someone who supposedly mattered the most, but to whom he wasn't able to keep from hurting?

In the end she simply started laughing, a single mad giggle that escaped her only to have her cover her lips in embarrassment.

"Dare I ask what, at a moment like this is so amusing?"' He asked through a tight voice.

"It's just that... Well... We both are wearing orange." She dismissively waved her hand over in his direction indicating the fluorescent orange jumpsuit that he was attired in, "and this time you are the one in the obscenely bright hue. You know, since I'm normally the one who-"

"Molly Hooper, are you accusing me of not being able to pull off this ensemble?" Sherlock stood, gesturing to his waist and Molly released much to her relief that he was unshackled. This relief was quickly dismissed as she watched him striding (if one could actually stride in such a small space) to stand directly in front of her. "You came."

Suddenly he reached out and Molly found herself being clutched tightly into his chest as he murmured 'I'm sorry' over and over again into her hair.

And then she was crying. But so was he, although he gave very little indication of doing so other than a steady stream of tears that dripped in her face and hair. Her arms had swiftly pulled him as close as she possibly could, breathing in the scent of his clean jumpsuit and the familiar tantalizing smell of him underneath it. They stayed clinging to one another for the better part of an hour and Molly finally pulled away and realized that he had moved them to the bed along a wall and she was sitting on his lap. 'Oh' she breathed out, attempting to scramble backwards away from him, Sherlock held her firmly and soothed her, "please Molly. Not yet."

It was then that she realized that she had no idea how long she was supposed to be staying. Or exactly why she was here. The thought made her cling to him all the more.

"I had to do it. I had to keep them safe." He whispered a few minutes later. Molly almost moved to see his face, but second guessed it, knowing how he had a hard time saying the things he meant most.

"Who, Sherlock?"

"The Watson's. All of them were in danger and I made a vow to keep them safe. I had to do it. I had to keep my word. They'll be safe now."Quiet surrounded them again but now Sherlock's hands were rubbing gently up and down her back slowly exploring the terrain. Comforting, lulling her into a peaceful state of being. It been a long long time since she'd been held like this. In a way that made her feel safe, secure and... And loved.

Sherlock Holmes loved others so much. It was so surprising, so at odds with he man that he that he presented to the rest of the world. He loved so purely, so fully that he'd be willing to do anything to keep those he loved safe be if jumping off a building or committing murder.

It was so Goddamned unfair. A sentiment that she apparently spoke out loud. And one he disagreed with.

"Is it?" He paused and Molly knew instinctively that he needed to say more. "It only goes to show I was right every time I warned others about the defects of sentiment. Every time I pushed someone away I was making the right call. Protecting myself. Protecting them even.

"But I couldn't listen to my own advice could I? No, I had to grow weak and before I knew it you lot all breached my defenses, each of you relentlessly attacking me, making me lower by defenses as you stole pieces of me. I grew foolish, weak and sentimental and now look where it got me?

"Locked up alone and waiting for my big brother to find where is best to let me rot."

Sherlock pushed her off of him suddenly, standing and circling the room as if he were fighting himself inside his head.

"That's the part that's not fair." Molly quietly agreed. She lay back on the bed leaning back on her elbows watching him. "You love your friends so much and we barely get to show you how much we love you. It's not fair "

He glanced darkly at her. "I'm not exactly worthy of anyone's love Molly. You forget constantly that I am not a hero, no matter how hard you wish me to be."

"Shut up! God, will you quit telling yourself that you aren't because you bloody well are. You are a hero, you giant pain in the arse! How many lives have you saved, lost people that have been found, killers you're put away-"

"Like myself, you are forgetting."

"No. No, I'm not. You killed because you were protecting others. I'm not excusing it or saying you were right to do so. It was an awful thing to do but if I were in that position than you know damn well that I'd have done the same to keep you safe.

"I killed you once, didn't I? Broke countless laws, ignored moral codes, oaths and risked everything, EVERYTHING to keep you safe. And I'd still do it again if it meant you would be okay." She was trying not to shout but it became unavoidable by the end. She raised herself to stand on her knees as she spoke. He stepped in front of her and held his hands on either side of her face.

"And what did you get for your trouble, eh Molly Hooper?" His eyes bore into her own. "What have I ever done that justified your actions? Your sacrifices?" Slowly he brought his forehead down to her own and Molly dared herself enough to place her own hands on his hips. "I don't deserve you."

"Stop saying that."

"I dream about you Molly. Did you know that? Or maybe its more of a fantasy..." His eyes went unfocused as he pulled back to look at her. "While I was off making the world 'safe' I'd dream of the day I would come home to all of you. John was supposed to be at Baker Street with Mrs Hudson and they both were supposed to have wept happy relieved tears while you... You my darling friend were to have flung yourself into my arms kissing me senseless. I wouldn't be able to tell you no and from there," he looked at her so tenderly, "I was to be yours evermore."

A sigh escaped Molly as she comprehended what he'd revealed. "Is that what was also supposed to happen here? Was I supposed to be running to you the moment I saw you embracing you and being forever... Yours?" Her voice broke at the end.

"No to be honest, while I did expect you to launch yourself at me to, it was more alone the lines of beating me into a bloody pulp." He answered

"And you'd have let me?" Molly asked, her dubiousness obvious in her voice.

"Yes, of course I would have. You and you alone have that right." Grazing his thumb down her cheek he tentatively caressed the edge of her lip in such a way that Molly felt weak-kneed and breathless. "After all I've done to hurt you, I'd let you do anything you wished to me."

"Anything?" She queried. "Even this?" Molly Hooper didn't wait for his answer, she pushed higher and used one arm to reach around his neck pulling him down to meet her eager kiss. An action he willingly approved of as he wasted not one second but began kissing her deeply, wholly. Together they clung and met each other as Molly allowed herself to fall back once more to the bed, this time Sherlock followed her down. Holding her kissing her as deeply as he'd always longed to do.

Her hands held him so close, tight but were soon roaming up over his shoulders and down his chest and began undoing the snaps of his jumpsuit. "Molly. Molly wait ...stop." She stilled instantly and opened her eyes to look a him. Sherlock watched her instantaneous embarrassment and self-censoring but quickly kissed her to assure her that he wasn't trying to say that he didn't want what she was offering, that he'd done it so that he could speak. "It's not you. Believe me I want you. Badly. Its just that you need to understand. This place... It's meant for conjugal visitations. While we are mercifully alone physically we are however being monitored. Through video." He nodded to a pinhole camera up above the window across from the bed.

"Oh." Oh... Instantly she felt violated. Exposed as if she had been caught making-out in the backseat of a car like a teenager.

"Now please know I don't ask for you for that particular intention. Um... That is to say I don't have any expectations that you'd... That we... that's not why I wanted to see you. Although I do rather obviously have interest in it. In you. In... sex. Sex with you." Sherlock offhandedly gestured towards his undeniable erection. "But I asked you to come because I needed to see you before I... I've need to apologize to you for everything. And I need to tell you now before I lost all my ability to think clearly and couldn't stop myself."

"You would want us to continue?" She asked amazed glancing from the camera back to him.

"What I want," he watched her carefully, "is to show you just how much I want to be with you far, far away from this place. I want to be able to have this development between us in my bedroom at Baker Street or even in your tiny excuse of a bed at your flat, but that's not going to happen. I may as well wish to go back in time and not kill-"

"You're not coming back, are you Sherlock? This is the only chance, the only moment for us isn't it? This is why I'm here? Some 'now or never' last chance?" Molly asked, already knowing the answer he would not say aloud but that his eyes answered with immediately. With one more glance at the camera Molly shifted herself out from underneath him to stand. She walked over to the sink and poured water over hands and raising them to her flushed face and neck, praying that the sudden feeling of nausea would ebb as swiftly as it came on. She breathed in and turned to watch Sherlock who had sat himself up on the bed, his elbows on his drawn up knees as he looked at the wall ahead of him, his cheek twitching as he swallowed thickly. The heat of her anger faded quickly as she watched him. There'd be time she knew to rehash the anger later but the time now wasn't it. He needed her. Needed to be loved as he had loved others. Unselfishly. "Where are they taking you?"

He still wouldn't look at her as he answered. "It is still being determined. There will be no trial, i've confessed and there are dozens of witnesses. No sense denying my guilt. Therefore, most likely I will be sent to a high security prison, mostly in solitary confinement. As you can imagine, I wont be safe among the common prisoners. Particularly the ones I insured their own capture."

"Solitary! But you'd go-"

"Mad?" He turned his head back to her, watching her discomfort at the idea. "In all likelihood, yes I will. Quickly."

"There has to be another way; you are Sherlock Holmes, how can they just keep you locked away? Even if your not free there's got to be another way-"

"Mycroft is looking into it. Before this newest development the powers that be made me a job offer. An offer I turned down easily as it would take me away from London for an extended period of time. Mycroft is asking if they would consider my willingness to take it on as an alternative to a more traditional sentence. Finally make me into the good little secret agent they always wanted me to be."

"That's not a good thing either is it?" Molly knew her voice sounded hallow as she asked.

"If they agree then Sherlock Holmes as you know me will cease to exist. I'll be killed off in some mundane, menial traffic incident no doubt before I begin my new life as an agent of her Majesty. New name, new life. No pesky loose ends.

"So you see Molly? No matter which outcome they choose for me for I am a dead man walking. The life I knew before has officially come to an end." He spoke bluntly and harshly and Molly knew she'd finally seen just why he'd looked hopeless when she'd first arrived. Molly came back over and sat on the opposite end of the bed from him looking at him, thinking about what would come next for him.

After a few moments Molly took one of his hands in both of her own, bending down and kissing his palm. "What do you need?" She finally whispered. Hating the way it always came back to this question between them. A sentiment he shared apparently based on his slamming his eyes shut.

"The last time you asked me that I was just as good as dead as I am now and you managed to do the impossible and save me." His strong hand gripped hers hard. "I can not, and will not ask you to do that again. It's not that he same. Circumstances are not what they were then and there is no escape option available to me. One way or another I will soon be dead."

"Sherlock, I'm asking you again. What do you need?" She was able to ask it with a stronger voice although her gut was clenching at what she owing what he was asking her for.

"You." He trembled out leaning back against the wall to watch her reaction as his eyes said what he could not say out loud.

God help her. She could do nothing to save his life. But he still needed her. Because this time Sherlock Holmes wasn't asking her to help him live, but to help him to die.

/\\_/\\_/\\_/\\_


	2. For Better or Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad.

JDying. He was dying. The man whose heartbeat thundered in her ear at this very moment was going to die soon. So soon. 

To be honest, Molly wasn't sure how she'd ended up back in his arms when she'd last been across the bed from him. It was, however far from unpleasant, in fact, it was nice. Her arms tightened around him as she'd done this a hundred times. This felt natural. Right, even. 

Truth was she didn't care how it had happened or when but she did not want to let him go. Fearing the moment she did that he would be gone. Forever. And oh! Just how much she was going to miss him when he was gone. How it would break her! They'd just gotten him back and now they were losing him again. Never to return. His words of things never going back to the way they were once more rang in her head. Repeating endlessly, over and over. Driving her to a sort of manic madness. Suddenly she was pushing him away, anger rolling through her exploding out. "How can you ask me to help you... To help you- to do that Sherlock! You of all people know what you mean to me and that I can't just-"

Unsurprisingly, he ignored her pleas. "Do you remember the fail-safe plan that we had in place all those years ago? And why I insisted upon having it even if we didn't use it?I needed it in place something went wrong and the prospect of the life before me was too grim, to unbearable. 

Molly, those days have returned. That is just what we are facing here and now. I can not live the life they will make me lead. I can't and I won't do it, Molly. I refuse to. Believe me, I do know just how hard of a task I'm asking you for, but I have made my mind up. This is what must happen. "

"But you can find a way-"

"What way is there? What options are before me? I could, yes-but think Molly. Think!" Sherlock urged frantically. For a moment she was sure that he wanted her to have an answer. A solution. 

She twisted away and moved off the bed to the table and sat down to face him. Sherlock sat himself back on the bed and resumed his knees up position, this time loosely holding them to himself. He looked so young sitting there like that. Like a moody, irritable teenage having a strop about being grounded. It was such an ironic parody of the situation he was in that Molly felt another twist of pain in her stomach. 

The petulant child was growing up into a teenager. Bigger problems; bigger consequences. He had killed a man. To any one else that be a life in prison sentence. How ill prepared would Sherlock be for prison? Could he really be expected to survive in an environment like that. Every other prisoner would know who he was and it would not be a fair fight. Would the guards look the other way while they beat him? Killed him? Would they do it themselves to be rid of him and blame it on the prisoners? What about when he went on a viral deduction spell? Angering the powers at be to be to lock him away in solitary with his own worst enemy. 

Himself. 

And of course knowing Sherlock and his tendency to bury himself in his own head... in a place like prison his mind palace refuge would become where he came.... and with very little incentive to come out of. 

That he'd been sent to a mental hospital because he'd gotten lost in that mind palace (was that even possible to do?) She could almost imagine visiting him and seeing his once bright eyes dulled by sedatives and no recognition or response to the outside world... It would kill her to see him like that.

Of course, there was the job option. The one where he'd be 'killed' off and she would never again see him. They'd take him, turn him into some incredibly elegant super weapon/ agent like James Bond. Oh he'd probably excel at a job like that! Molly wondered why he had not gone that path in the first place...

"If you can get that job-"

"I don't WANT that job."

"But you'd be alive!" She cried.

"Having a heartbeat isn't the same as being alive!" He screamed before clenching his jaw. "I'll not be made into a puppet."

"Surely it wouldn't be that bad." Her voice shook at her half hearted attempt to reason. 

"Forced Slavery? Oh no, I'm sure it be splendid." He mocked. "A regular jolly adventure, darting hither and thither about the globe, going only where I am told, doing only what my missions state I do and killing whomever they God damn want! You are right! How can I say no!?" He mocked. "Never again will I be allowed to have free will . Never allowed to see my home, my family the Watsons, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade ... You." Sherlock climbed off the bed and placed his hands on the table between them bending and looking her straight in the eye. 

"There is no freedom in that life. It would be like suffering a slow, painful death by suffocation. Killing Sherlock Holmes is only the first part, stripping me of every thing I am until there's nothing left but a mind and a body. A robot. A tool at best, or a toy. Tested, probed and used until I'm broken or something better comes along. In fact, the job offer itself has only a six month... warranty you may say. I'd be a seasonal toy, not what you're envisioning in your head. But even six months is too long. It would be a mercy when the day comes that finally truly 'get' to die for queen and country. Do remember they offered. I. said. No." Sherlock spoke emphatically before he was silent a moment before he spoke again, far more gently. "I won't be made to live that kind of life. I won't be made into a mindless killing machine. No, no. This is a better alternative-for everyone." 

He finally pulled back and sat down opposite her. Molly was silent as she mulled over what he had told her. Trying to imagine Sherlock in that kind of bondage. In the silence he spoke again. "That is why I need this. It's time to use the Fail-Safe. Because the prospect of living life under any of those conditions is even more insupportable than the thought of dying.

"It's what must be done, Molly. This is the better... Indeed, the best option for me."

"And what about me? I've already lost you once, how can I even... "

"Because you'll finally be free of me. Once and for all." Hard words to say she notices and it makes every part of her ache. 

"I don't want to be fucking free of you!" Her anguish voice cried. 

"Nor I you." He grabbed her hand in his gently , lifting to his lips and kissing softly, so reverently on her palm, then her wrist in a way that made her ache all the more with heartbreak and longing. "But I've never properly ever had you, have I? Never even earned the right to do so. I am a poison to you Molly Hooper."

"That's not true! Don't say that- do not even think it." Tears rolled down her face. "You aren't a poison. God! You are not the poison. You. You, Sherlock Holmes are the..you are the... the cure."

"I'm going to die. Molly, my sweet sweet Molly. Im going to be gone soon." His thumb stroked her knuckles. "It's unavoidable. It will happen. Whether we want it or not."

"Stop it! That's not fair to me Sherlock Holmes. God!" She flung away from him and crossed her arms in a vain attempt to hold herself together when she felt as though she were breaking apart. 

"Fair has no business in this world. Of course it's not 'fair'." He reasoned, his voice tight with barely controlled emotions of all extremes buried, but fighting to break out.

"I'm dying. And you know, I've nearly died a half dozen ways in the same number of years. All involuntarily, of course mind you can. Most have been professional hazards. Shot, then of course there was the jump. But then there is the poisonings, concussions I sustained in fights and of course the involuntary OD's.

"Death is an edge I've flirted on many times before when high, Molly. It's that... that sweet oblivion, just out of reach... And now, if I'm going to have to meet it, to cross it then I want to do it my way. The way I, and I alone choose. 

"Please Molly... Please."

There it was. What he wanted from her. What he needed. He wanted her to find and get him a final high. Needed her to get him access to the thing that she hated the most in all the world.

How many times has she prayed to a God she was not all that sure she even believed him that he wouldn't die because of his addiction? And now... Now she was even considering procuring the fatal poison herself? What a sickening thought. 

So sickening in deed, that it made her once again run and lose the contents of her breakfast in the toilet leaving empty and weak. Molly had felt Sherlock there, right beside her, holding her hair back as she spewed and then holding her close as she wept afterwards. She didn't fight as he handed her a wad of folded up toilet tissue to wipe her mouth and cheeks. The tenderness of the actions forced her still and made her want to look up at him. Wondering what his motivation was, if any... she hesitantly looked at him. He was so attentive so... Concerned. 

"If you can not do this, I will not be upset in he slightest with you. I find I well know the duress you feel you. Understand, what it is to want to do anything to keep those you love from pain."

"But if you understand it, how come you keep doing it?" She warbled out. 

He gave her a broken smile, but couldn't, or wouldn't answer her question. "Come on then." He stood up and pulled her up holding her hand and walking her back to her seat at the table before kneeling under the bed and pulling out s small open basket of simple foods. Sandwiches, water bottles, two small packets of crisps and small thick plastic containers of cut melon and berries. "I requested something a bit... Well a bit more, but this is what the powers that be deemed me safe with. You'll forgive me I hope."

Molly sipped her water and breathed deeply in and out for a few moments before chancing a weak smile. It would be fine. Something more than simple crisps, but less than fish or chips which she was grateful for. A nice sweet picnic was just the thing she concluded for a conjugal visit. Speaking of that....

"So do I even want to know how this all came about? I mean... Not the... Just, how I was able to get in here?" She dared herself to ask after she bit into a sandwich. Sherlock was chewing his own hearty sandwich eagerly until she asked and she saw that he slowed chewing, needing to prolong his answer. He even set down his sandwich and wiped his mouth in a bit of an exaggerated slowness. He was hiding something clearly. "Just tell me now and get it over with." 

Sherlock cleared his throat, thoroughly. before speaking. "It would seem that, uh, um we are, as I just recently discovered... technically still married."

"Married?" Molly flung herself back. "Married! Are you trying to put one over on me because for Gods sake Sherlock, how the fuck can we be married?!" She paused and He moved to speak but she cut him off, "and what he hell does still Married mean?!"

Once more he began to answer but she lifted a hand a stop him again before so much as a syllable made it out. "No, no. Let me guess: Mycroft? Right?" With a nod she had her answer. "Of course. Yes." She paused. Trying to think of what to say next. 

"When the bloody hell did he manage that? And how does that even work?"

"'Allegedly', back when I was you were given and read an oath that you repeated in the preparations for our plans by a member of his team to ensure your silence and dedication to preserve my life. Apparently that vow was used as your pledge of willingness."

"But surely more was needed than just that!"  
Molly denied. Married to Sherlock Holmes... The idea was mad! Ludicrous even. 

"You signed a plethora of documents that day. It would have been relatively easy to slip a marriage record in."

"But you- you knew! Didn't you? I may have missed what was happening, but you- you knew! What did you do?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, and pulled in a breath before opening his eyes and looking at her through some sort of mask he recognized. "I married you. Obviously."

The silence felt heavy around them as they each considered the other. Waiting, awkwardly so. "Yeah, I'm going to need more info than that, Sherlock."

"It was prudent option wasn't be married should the plans we prepared go wrong. You'd be there, handily enough as next of kin to see to what needed to be done.

It was an insurance policy." He spit out in his monotone informative voice. 

"An insurance policy? Okay I might have excepted that... Only if that's why it started, but in any case, why are we STILL married?"

"Why not?" He queried as if their state of union didn't bother him at all. 

"Why not? Oh. My. God." Molly stood and rounded the chair to place her hands on its high back, muttering low in her throat. "I was engaged, Sherlock. Engaged to be married." The silence surrounded them again as be slowly blinked but didn't rebuttal. "Were you just going to let me become a bigamist?" 

"Of course not. If I'd have the thought for even a second that you were really going to marry him then I'd have petitioned for an annulment. Clearly you two were never going to wed and I saw no reason to bother with it."

Molly stared at him as her mind reeled from what was turning into far more than the 'Mycroft forged some documents' explanation that she had expected. No, this instead was turning out to be a veritable Pandora's box of issues. When would she even begin to investigate and dissect the many things he said? It would take a long time and time was definitely not something they had. 

How freaking fitting.

Sighing deeply she sat back down rubbing her hands over her face. "Whatever. It doesn't even really matter." Not in the long run...

"It does. It matters and for what it's worth I'm sorry." Sherlock's voice was soft and raw, but his words she felt were honest. It made her look up from between her hands and peek at him.

"Do you even know what it is that you are apologizing for?" 

"Yes Molly, of course I do. And I'm giving you an apology. An apology for everything." He breathed as his eyes glowed a deep blue grey with the unsaid things. "For all of it."

It was far from an elegant speech, especially from him and his usually elegant tongue; unadorned and sparse. To Molly though it was honest and in turn it was enough. Just enough. He was hiding something still about his reasoning, but still it didn't matter. She knew what he was unable to say out loud, and it made her heart pounded and sang with she was surprised to find that hearing the words out loud didn't matter. "So here we are, husband and wife and I'm here to share the conjugal marriage bed. You know, that if we were to do so, any hope of an annulment would be impossible."

"Would that be so... terrible?" Sitting still as stone he waited for her reply. 

"To be honest yes. Yeah that's is rather terrifying. Completely and utterly terrifying, actually!" She admitted, studying him as he glanced away. "This is a bit overwhelming to learn. I need time, I need to think..." But even as she said it she knew, felt what her choice would be. "But I guess it doesn't matter that we don't have that. It doesn't, because in the end, I know what I'd say. What my answer would be. The decision was made long ago, and I know that I'd like nothing more than to be with you, Sherlock. For a day, a year. A lifetime even. 

"I've always been yours you know Sherlock Holmes. I just... I cant not help wishing that I'd known that you've been mine, as well." Molly watched as his eyes clamped tight and his breath grew ragged with emotion. 

"Always. I've always been yours Molly Hooper. Always." 

"That's really wonderful to hear." Her eyes leaked tears that she ineffectually wiped away. "Really, really, really wonderful actually."

"Molly?" Sherlock took her hand in his and knelt down in front of her. "Molly, would you do me the greatest, completely unearned honor of becoming my wife?" 

Standing, Molly drew him up with her and took his other hand in hers as well squeezing them both tightly l. "To have and to hold from this day forth."

Leaving forward he kisses her oh her left cheek. "In better or poorer...." His lips moved to her right. "In sickness and in health."

"I will love no others save thee." Molly whispered. 

Sherlock leaned his forehead down to hers "Until death do us part."

"Until death do us part." She parroted back. Not for one second feeling mirthful about the irony of the statement. Her ennui must have shown for he next asked, "may I now kiss the bride."

"Yes, Mr Holmes. Yes, you may." Molly flung her arms back to his neck and clung to her husband. The kiss he gave her was one that Molly prayed that she would never forget. It's passion scorched her with its delicious pairing of pleasure and pain. It's fierceness tempered only by its sadness. 

Bittersweet. 

At its completion Molly leaned back in his arms and slid them down and over to his chest before leaving to side off her cardigan tossing it to the chair. Sherlock allowed his hands to gently slide across the revealed skin that sleeveless dress revealed, silently analyzing and absorbing. 

Next Molly's hands drifted up to the top button of her dress and slowly and deftly undid it watching as Sherlock's eyes lit at the visual stimulation, his pupils exploding with each button she undid with his rapidly growing desire. Stepping back she reached down to draw the hem up and over her head, heedless of his remonstrating reminder of the cameras presence. 

After the dresses removal Molly shook her loose hair and back over her shoulders smiling as the words of protest died in his lips and the sight of her standing in her bra and knickers. The set was nothing extraordinary. It was chosen on function and comfort rather than to allure. After all, never had this situations possibility even crossed her mind.

To add to the awkwardness, Sherlock looked completely usure of himself. Nervous because of what he was doing and because of being watched as well. "It's alright, Honey." She crooned. "You know, perhaps after all these years of marriage we'd need something to liven up the sex life a bit anyway. Right?"

"You're sure. You are absolutely sure-"

"No. No. Oh god no.I'm far from it. But all I care about right this moment is making love to you, if that's what you still want too."

"Oh god yes." Sherlock swore before diving to kiss her once more. Molly's hands made ready to pull his shirt off, and after a brief tussle finally managed to yank the orange prison garb from his torso. Her hands slid into the waist of his trousers, eager to strip them off of him. Never one to be bothered by his own nudity, Sherlock allowed her to assist him out of them before he grabbed and drew her into the bed, careful to drape the thin coverlet behind him to help garnish whatever privacy they could as they became fully man and wife.


End file.
